


What The Heart Can Remember

by writingsfromafangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring, Help, History, Love, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Questioning, Rememberance, Sad, Self-Acceptance, learning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingsfromafangirl/pseuds/writingsfromafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hunting trip went wrong, Dean lost a good portion of his memory. He forgot most of his past and even who his own brother was. He eventually began working towards putting his lift back together and now owns a gunshop. Castiel was MIA after Dean’s accident. Although, he hadn’t left because of Dean’s memory loss. He left because a new war had broken out between heaven and hell. The war had been settled but a few angels, including Castiel, gave up their grace to end it.<br/>However, Castiel ends up hitchhiking and that leads him to the one who forgot him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fanfic I've ever written so I am new to posting and all that on here, so please, if you have criticism, let it be constructive. Thank you.

Sleep. That was the only word going through Dean’s head as he sat at the counter staring down through the glass at the guns that laid in there.

He hadn’t been sleeping much lately. Instead, he’s been up all night talking to Sam asking questions. Questions about who he was as a teenager, what his parents were like and what he did if he couldn’t sleep.

Dean’s memorization was also out of tact from the hunting accident. He’d have to hear a story at least 3 times before he could even remember the overall lesson of it.

It bothered him too much but he learned to live with it and learned to take care of himself. Although, it took 2 and a half years to get a regular routine down and memorized.

Though, to him, it never sounded like a good condition to be in for him to run a gun shop but shooting a gun was the first thing Sam taught him. He caught on to it and some memories came back. Memories of murdering monsters and demons flooded into his mind every time he held a gun.

At first, the memories terrified him. They made him feel like a serial killer. He only saw the innocent people, never the monsters possessing them. He coped with those flashbacks now and told himself he did the right thing. He helped people. But whatever made him get into that business confused him.

A bell rang from above the door, causing Dean to shoot his head up. He saw it was another frat boy. Freshman college kids were oddly attracted to this place instead of heading to the pawn shop few doors down. It annoyed Dean, especially since his own shop’s policy was those over 21 could purchase a gun. And there was a big sign on the door announcing that.

He gave the kids a death stare as they approached him.

“How much for a pistol?” The 18 year old asked.

“Get out,” Dean’s voice was rough and filled with annoyance.

“Shouldn’t turn down paying customers,” the frat boy’s friend said.

“Shouldn’t come in here if you’re not over 21. What would you kids even use it for? Shooting rabbits?”

“The campus is dangerous place though-,”

“Man up,”

Dean’s question of their manhood chased them out of there.

He sighed and looked back down at the counter. He wondered where his raging anger had come from. Sam said he was born with it but that seemed more like a joke.

He sometimes assumed he got it from his father. Sam told him many stories about their father. Some good, some bad. There was always more bad stories than good stories. Sam always talked about how Dean was so much like their father and basically worshipped him. Although, that never seemed correct to him.

The more Sam and Dean talked, the most Dean realized Sam stressed about the dangers of demons and their presence everywhere. During Dean’s time in the hospital, Sam taught him the basic signs: pentagram, Devil’s trap, angel vanishing and many others. He kept them all in planner-looking book Sam has called “Dad’s journal”.

Sam said Dean had to keep it, just in case. In case of what, Dean didn’t know, though he followed Sam’s instructions. Keep a Devil’s trap under the carpet, keep salt behind the counter, along with holy water and guns (like that was scarce).

The bell once again went off and Dean starred ahead at it. A man walked into the middle of the room but stopped, as if he was paralyzed.

“Haven’t changed,” the man said and looked down at the carpet. His British accent dripped off each word. Dean had no memory of this man, but that voice was familiar…

The painting below the carpet was what got his brain going. Quickly, Dean grabbed a gun and pointed it at the British man. He had gotten good at holding the gun with one hand and not flinching when it went off.

“Where’s Moose?”

“Who are you?” Dean’s voice boomed. The stranger chuckled.

“That’s right, I heard about your accident. You don’t remember me?”

Dean stared into the man’s eyes and did his best to think back to any occurrences in which he would’ve encountered this man, but he thought of nothing.

“Tell me your name,” Dean’s voice got deeper.

“The name’s Crowley, King of Hell,”

Dean placed the gun down. The memories came back for half a second. Crowley was familiar. King of Hell was very familiar, too. However, he couldn’t put the name from his memory to a face from his memory.

“Why are you here?” His voice was back to normal. He hoped over the counter and stepped around the carpet, as if he would get caught in the trap too.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” this actually worried Dean. He might _have_ heard some news but forgot, and that would embarrass him.

“He’s back,”

“What?”

“He’s back,”

Dean was getting nowhere in this conversation. He didn’t even know if he could believe a single thing that came out of this man’s mouth. Especially if this man is, so-called, King of Hell.

“What, did hurting your head make you stupid?” Crowley sighed.

Dean didn’t know what to say or do next. He stood face to face with the man, still pointing the gun at him. His face had become softer, though. Something had told him to keep his guard down for this.

“Get me out of this Devil’s trap and we can talk,” Crowley growled.

Dean was against that idea but his gut instinct convinced him, unfortunately.

While still pointing the gun at Crowley, Dean shuffled and reached behind the counter, grabbing the first knife he felt for. Shuffling back over, he placed the gun on the floor and lifted up the carpet, then proceeding to scrape away part of the paint.

As soon as Crowley was free to walk, Dean wasted no time in repainting the part he scraped away.

Cautiously, Dean led Crowley back to his office. It was small and barely held both of them due to the fact, a large desk and filing cabinet took up most of the space.

Dean at behind his desk but was on the edge of his seat. Crowley stood staring at him.

“Well?” Dean’s annoyance was growing stronger. “Who’s back?”

“Castiel.”

Partial memories flew back to Dean. He was able to put a face to the name. However, that was all. It was like a little movie but only scenes of him and Castiel standing together. He couldn’t remember anything him and Castiel had done together or how they had even met.

Still Dean was forced to ask, “Who?”

“Your angel. You know, the one who dragged you out of hell.”

Dean had no knowledge of this. All the stories Sam told him never included Dean going to hell, or an angel dragging him out of it. After two years, so much was still missing. So many stories and memories, vanished as if a canvas was bleached white.

“Not ringing a bell?” Crowley also had his annoyance growing stronger.

Dean shook his head.

“Well ask Sam, looks like he’s been leaving out a lot.”

“Leave, now!” Dean’s voice boomed with anger and frustration. He swore to himself he didn’t mean to snap but his temper got shorter as time went on.

“Alright,” Crowley began making his way towards the door but Dean stayed put behind his desk.

Castiel… the name so familiar yet so foreign. He didn’t exactly know who that was but yet knew the face.

And the dragged out of hell thing... Sam never mentioned that. 

Dean, of course, knew about the hunting and mild cases here and there, but ever so often, after a story, Sam would stop. Then, pick up with a story 5 years in the future from that one. There was gaps missing, just like Dean's memory. 

Dean returned to behind the counter and sat where he once was motionless and upset. Staring down, recalling all that had happened, Dean shut his eyes and let flashbacks hit him one by one. There were continuous and barely able to be made out. There was glimpses of fire and darkness. He felt like he was falling into the darkness, until his eyes bolted open. Looking around he was still in his gun shop, calmly sitting. Not in darkness, not in a fire.

Taking a couple of deep breaths he began staring at the doorway. No one came in. Customers seemed to be rare. Unfortunately, this gave Dean more time to think. To hell. Saved by an angel. And then back. It was like a Grimm's fairytale only noncomprehending.

"I need something normal in my life," Dean mumbled to himself. The only thing normal he had was a routine. Each day brought him new reasons as to why nothing was normal.

Once again, he replayed everything in his mid until finally his brain hurt and he pounded his fists on the glass case holding the guns.

This over thinking grew Dean's anger, but finally he decided there was nothing he could do about it right now. As he had learned in certain moments, he has a life. He has a store to run, a day to get on with. All answers will come at his daily nighttime call with Sam. It was just a matter of waiting. It always was.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean closed up the gun shop at exactly 7 PM. Everyday he closed it at the same time. 

This was because of his daily routine. After the accident, the doctors worked with him to come up with a daily routine. They said it would help to jog his memory, but hasn't yet. 

However, this was the third routine he's had and would, but rarely, get them confused. If he ever did get them confused and forget what he was suppose to be doing or where he was, he called Sam. Sam had gotten annoyed by this but still kept a schedule of Dean's most current routine. 

After closing the shop, he'd make his way to his apartment above the gun shop. 

The apartment had 1 bedroom, a kitchen, half of a living room and a bathroom. It was small but manageable 

Dean unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen of his apartment. After taking off his shoes, he walked over to his fridge. He kept his daily routine on the fridge. In fact, he kept about 5 of those scattered around his apartment, but only knew where they were half of the time. 

At exactly 7:30, Dean began making a pasta dinner. 

For everyday of the week, he had a specific dinner he would make. There too was a written schedule for that on the fridge, along with recipes, just in case.

Even though he's been making pasta for the same day of the week for the last year or two, Dean kept the recipe right next to him, following it precisely. 

It kept him calm, really, to have a schedule to follow and have his days already planned out. It mostly took away the stress of life. He wouldn't have to think of something to do the next day, he already knew just looking at his schedule. Of course he always left little open times in case something did pop up. Dean did eventually come to the acceptance and realization that he cannot control the future. He can shape it as he pleases, but there is no promise it'll stick to the way its shaped. 

Really the routine should've stopped by now. He should be doing as he pleases and going anywhere he wanted to but there was fear that kept him in his apartment. Mostly fear he would forget where he lives so he kept himself on the routine, just ensure himself he was on a straight path. 

It frustrated him, though. Honestly, he just wanted something unexpected to happen. Maybe that would trigger his memory. Like a lightning bolt striking him.

As Dean stirred the pasta sauce he couldn't help but let his mind continue to analyze all that had happened today. It was a lot to take in. He didn't ever get news like this told to him by anyone other than his brother. He got used to how easily Sam dropped news on him, but hearing things from a stranger was frightening. 

It was as if he suddenly realized that others knew about him. Others had knowledge how horrible things he had done and monsters he had killed. People could be waiting for him to kill the Lochness Monster. But now all he was doing was selling guns to middle aged men going through a midlife crisis and boiling pasta noodles.

It frustrates him more than it puts him to shame. He wants to go back out there and do something but he couldn't remember all the instructions Sam once told him. 

After the pasta was cooked properly, Dean added the sauce and placed it into a bowl. 

At exactly 8:00 he sat on his couch and turned on a rerun of Law & Order. He was interested in the show, despite the fact Sam had told him he never liked it before. 

Every time he thought about all the moments Sam said Dean never liked something before, it hurt him. It hurt to know not even his personality was the same. Everything changed, yet everything felt normal. 

At exactly 8:30, Dean finished dinner and did the dishes. This time, however, he turned on the radio to distract him. Living in such a quiet apartment gave him too much alone time with his brain, he decided, and the radio brought just enough noises to stop that. 

Dean carefully cleaned the dishes and set them out to dry.

Exactly at 9:00, Dean called Sam. 

Sam picked up after the first ring with a, "Hello, Dean."

It was comforting to Dean knowing his brother waited by the phone for his call.

"Evening, Sam." Dean paced around his kitchen.

"How was your day?" Sam liked to ask the same questions. It helped Dean to remember the day and recall all details that were nearly forgotten. 

 "Sam, I have some questions," Dean was startled by his break from the normal conversation.

"Alright," Sam sounded casual.

"Who is Crowley?"

"What?" Sam's voice got more concerning.

"Who is Crowley?" Dean repeated.

"Um, King of Hell, he calls himself. I never mentioned him before, where did you hear that name?"

"I didn't hear it. The man himself strolled into my shop today," Dean didn't know what to feel now. He was glad Crowley wasn't lying about who he was, but then again he was disappointed Crowley didn't lie. 

"I assume you want the story of Crowley,"

More than once had Dean heard a name that stirred his memory and the only way to know if the name mattered, was to ask Sam.

"Yeah," Dean sat in his living room now, all comfortable to hear the story of his and Sam's encounter with the King of Hell.

Sam started from the beginning and this time, left nothing out. With each word Dean found himself hypnotized by the tale but unsure at the same time. Dean listened intently, as he always had and even made little notes. He knew for sure he'd ask to hear the story again, but still wanted to get down the important parts. 

At the end of it, Sam asked if Dean needed to hear it again. Dean said no but instead asked about Castiel.

"Oh god," Dean heard the groaning in Sam's voice.

"What?"

"This means you know,"

"What do I know?" Again, people go around assuming a man who can't even remember how to make pasta is remembering all the hell he raised.

"You've been to hell and back... Literally."

"Yeah, why wasn't I ever told about that?" Dean's voice began to get louder.

"Look, I couldn't just go up to you and just casually mention that you've been to hell! It would freak you out!"

"Sam it's been two years! I can handle it now."

Sam sighed and tried to beat around it but eventually gave in and told Dean the story. This time, Dean took more detailed notes. It was his own life for Christ's sakes. However, the more Sam talked, the more it sounded fake. Dean was barely able to comprehend that any of it could happen. He could go to hell, survive and then be risen out of it by an  _angel_. _  
_

"All you wanted to know?" Sam was ready to end the entire conversation.

"Who's Castiel?"

"The angel that got you out of hell,"

"What's he like?" Dean still could picture Castiel in his mind but still had no personality to go with it.

Sam did his best to explain Castiel's unique, yet helpful and smart personality. It captivated Dean, in a way he couldn't explain. Part of him always enjoyed this time of day. He enjoyed hearing about the people who were and are in his life. 

However, part of him wish he could avoid this time of day. Especially ever since Sam once mentioned that neither of them remember their mom. Sam said Dean used to have vivid memories about their mom but now it was all erased. He couldn't even picture her...

"Dean?" Sam's voice shook Dean out of his saddening thoughts.

"Sorry, yeah, got it." Dean missed everything. He kicked himself mentally for it. His mind sometimes ran off into a different thought when a mention of something else triggered it. His attention span was slowly going too, Dean felt.

"Dean?" Sam asked again.

"Yeah?"

"I feel like I should come to visit you for the day," 

Typically Dean would convince Sam he was alright but this felt different. He wanted the company. "Alright, see you tomorrow. 8:00 AM, exactly."

Sam agreed and they both hung up. 

Dean suddenly felt unprepared for Sam's visit. It was unexpected.

Sure that's what he wanted but Sam typically visited. It wasn't going to trigger anything

Right before Dean fell asleep, he searched for the schedule he kept for when Sam visited. 

Before shutting his eyes he did his best to memorize the schedule for tomorrow. Mostly to see if his brain made any progress in healing. But a part of him wanted to prove to Sam he was alright. Everything was normal.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean awoke after having the best sleep he's had in a while. He felt refreshed.

Stretching out of bed, he saw the clock read 7:45. In a panic, he rushed around his tiny bedroom getting ready. Getting dressed, brushing his teeth and brushing out his hair. Basically all at the same time.

Today, though, Dean felt different. Being off schedule was something he mentally prepared for last night. At least he thought he did. Last night was fuzzy.

After deciding he looked fine, Dean walked out to his living area, on his way to look for breakfast, but instead found the notes he took. There was only two and he reviewed them as he went to pour himself a bowl of cereal. Luckily, the conversation with Sam wasn't fuzzy, although he didn't remember all of it. He remembered asking about Crowley and Castiel, just not everything that was said about both of them. Plus, his Crowley notes were too vague and there was no notes on Castiel.

The second note was about his vacation to hell. The bullet points he had only described how he changed. 

No matter how hard Dean tried, he couldn't see himself being the miserable, determined soldier he used to be. He couldn't picture anyone living that life style. 

Still, he took Sam's word for it and started the acceptance phase. At least that life was over.

Few minutes before 8:00, Dean made his way downstairs to his shop.

He took a quick inventory of everything, refilled salt and Holy water behind the counter and unlocked the door at exactly 8:00 AM.

Sitting behind the counter at his normal spot, Dean stared at the door. 

Disappointingly, Sam arrived  few minutes after 8:00.

"Hey, Dean." Sam smiled as Dean hopped over the counter to embrace his brother into a hug. 

"Hey," Dean smiled. It was nice, smiling. He didn't smile much anymore. And according to Sam, he rarely did before.

 "Glad this place is still standing," Sam laughed as he followed Dean around the counter. Dean pulled out a chair for him.

"So am I," Dean mumbled and sat back down. 

"You're still the only one that works here?"

Dean shook his head, "I let a guy take over on the weekends."

 "I am very glad you got back on your feet,"

"Only took 2 years," Dean mumbled and stared back at the door.

"Everything takes time. Hell, in time your memory could come back. You could believe that-,"

"I was the person you claim I was. I know, Sam. You've said that a lot."

Sam and Dean were both silent after that. Perhaps Sam was just in depth with thoughts as Dean was, but Dean didn't ask.

Few moments later a group of tourists came in. These tourists were just like the rest: they come in after pawning an item. Most of them don't stay more than 5 minutes but they still annoyed Dean.

"How much for that one?" a middle aged, overweight man asked as he pointed to the case against the wall. The fact this man didn't even know a name of a single gun in here was enough to show Dean he wouldn't be selling a gun to any of these people. He didn't sell guns unless the person was educated and came off as a professional. Of course that made it harder to actually sell anything but in a way, he was keeping people safe.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sir, I don't think it's wise to buy that." Sam spoke up, which caught Dean off guard.

"Excuse me?" The tourist became offended, as did his family.

"Well something can go wrong if you don't know what the actual gun you're using is,"

The tourist and family stared at Sam. Even Dean was staring at him. He was glad his brother had the brains to say that. Dean would've most likely been rude but they both were trying to accomplish the same thing.

Finally, the tourists left. Most likely in disgust, though.

"So, Crowley just walked in here?" Sam asked, as if the following events hadn't happened.

Caught off guard, Dean said, "Uh, yeah,"

"Why?"

"He came to tell me, and I quote, my angel is back."

Sam chuckled. "Have you seen him yet?"

Dean shook his head. "No."

"What a shame."

"You think he could jog my memory?"

"Hard to say, but I wouldn't doubt it." Sam shrugged. "You still going to see your doctor?"

Dean nodded, "Every couple of weeks. So far, so good."

Saying that almost gave Dean confidence.

The rest of the hours the shop was open went by slowly. Barely anyone came in but Dean did successfully sell some bullets to a young man out on a hunting trip.

At exactly 7:00 Dean closed up and him and Sam went up to the apartment. 

The moment they got in, Dean began cooking a chicken dinner with rice and steam vegetables. It wasn't once of his normal meals he'd make. It was more for when he had company. Which, of course, was rare, yet he was still prepared. 

As Dean studied the recipe and did his best to do everything right, Sam wandered around the apartment.

"Still got the routine posted everywhere?" Sam noticed on the fridge. 

"Yeah, but I don't look at it as much as I used to." Dean lied.

"And the weekly meal schedule?"

"I stray from following it." Dean, once again, lied. He felt compelled to.

"Good," Dean couldn't tell if Sam believed him or not, so he let it slide.

They began eating their meal in silence for the first few minutes.

"So, what happens when Cas shows up here?" Sam asked.

"We don't know if he will show up,"

"Crowley has been reliable." Sam shrugged and ate some rice.

"Sam, you taught about how terrible demons and certain creatures are and now you want me to trust the King of _Hell_?" _  
_

Sam was silent for a moment after that. Dean was frustrated with the dinner and pushed his plate away.

"He's proven to be a reliable source time after time," 

Dean couldn't fight over this anymore. Sam never lied, as far as he knew. He just had to trust his baby brother's instincts. 

"Alright well, now I just wait for an angel to poof it's way to my front door."

"That's the spirit."

Dean began doing the dishes shortly after Sam had finished his food.

As Dean continued washing, Sam wandered into the living room.

Skimming over Dean's bookcase he found few books but many notebooks and his father's journal.

One notebook sat on top of the bookcase and was opened. Looking at it, Sam read notes from his conversation with Dean last night.

Flipping through the notebook he found many pages full of notes from their conversations. The other notebooks in the bookcase held the same type of thing. The first one came from a year and a half ago, way back to when Dean was still living with Sam.

As Sam heard footsteps he shoved the notebooks back and pretended to look at Dean's worn out couch.

Dean entered the room, confused.

"You okay?" Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, Dean, are you okay?"

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"No reason,"

They were silent after that. Until Dean asked what he had been waiting to ask all night. "Tell me about Castiel again."

"Sure,"

Dean and Sam sat on Dean's couch. This time, Dean listened attentively. He didn't take notes, as he thought Sam didn't know about that. Instead, he soaked in each word. He did his best to picture Castiel again and tried applying the stories to him. 

By the end of every story Sam could think of that included Castiel (which was a lot), Dean felt as if someone cared about who he was before his accident. Someone, besides Sam, appreciated who he was before. Now, he wanted to know if Castiel felt that way about him now.

Sam announced he had to leave at 9:30. 

"Glad to have you over," Dean said as they walked back down to the shop.

"Just glad to know you're doing better," Sam nodded as they stood out on the sidewalk in front of the gun shop. They walked a few steps to Sam's car. As Sam began driving away, Dean waved. When the car was out of sight, Dean turned back to go into his shop until a figure walked around the corner of an alley. This scene looked like it belong in a horror film but Dean was paralyzed as the figure moved closer to him. 

He squinted and saw it was a person. More specifically a man in jeans and a t-shirt with dark hair. He was shorter than Dean but that still didn't mean he couldn't threaten Dean in a way.

Dean planted his feet and turned to face the man as he approached him. 

In a raspy voice the figure said, "Hello, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I want to apologize for how long it took me to upload chapter 4. I recently discovered Law & Order: LA so I've been watching that nonstop and I'm reading a book and I play Kim Kardashian: Hollywood so that's been taking up my free time.. but anyways I've just been getting distracted. So, I'm sorry!

Dean was paralyzed with confusion. This couldn't be... No. This wasn't him. The man from Dean's memory was healthy, strong. The man standing before him looked malnourished, sleep deprived and as if he had given up. He was defeated.

 They stared at each other, not saying anything. In all fairness, what could they say?

Castiel was unaware of Dean's accident and Dean wasn't even sure is this was the man he had been told about.

To each other, their emotions were unreadable. 

Dean began looking around at the ground, the sky, a window, any place other than the man standing before him.

Until, finally, Dean found words to say, despite how minimum and short they were. "Hello,"

Once again, silence fell upon them as if it was a heavy blanket. 

Castiel became confused. He expected more... He expected a hug or a smile... Something to show he was missed and wanted.

 "Dean?" 

Dean looked Castiel in the eyes, trying to reach back into his memory. Sure, someone familiar and close to Castiel popped into his brain but he was still confused by the difference. His mind could only be playing tricks.

"Everything alright?" Castiel tried to pry some emotion out of Dean.

At first Dean wanted to run into the shop and hide in his apartment, then Crowley's and Sam's words rang in his head. It was as if a light bulb went off.

"Come inside," Dean opened the door to the shop. Castiel, with a confused look, walked inside the gun shop, taking in the surroundings.

Dean then soon lead Castiel up to his apartment where they stood silently in the kitchen.

"Exactly who are you?" Dean felt as if he took a big leap asking one small question.

Castiel stared at him blankly. "What?"

 "Who are you?"

Castiel felt as if his life was soon to cave in. Standing before him was the last person he knew would care about him and now that person looked to him as a stranger.

"I don't understand."

"Answer me,"

"Castiel... You remember me as an angel of the Lord, but that title is long gone."

"I don't remember anything," Dean whispered.

 Castiel was more confused more than ever. "What happened?"

Dean invited Castiel to sit down at his kitchen tablet. From there Dean told in great detail all the information he had about how a hunting trip went wrong. He tried his best to remember every detail Sam had told him but he was sure he left out some parts. Still, Castiel listened attentively. At every subtle pause, as Dean tried to get his memory intact, Castiel would pat Dean's arm ever so awkwardly. It helped in a way.

Dean proceeded to tell him about his routines and the gun shop. It was a lighter portion of the story but still held its darkness.

By the end of the story, Dean felt relieved. Castiel, too, felt better. Now the next question he had was: "Do you have food?"

Dean gave a small smile and promised to make him some soup.

Dean stood stirring the canned soup while looking at Castiel who still sat at the kitchen table. Dean noticed how terrible he looked. His shirt and jeans were torn and dirty. Bruises and cuts covered Castiel's arms. 

"Go clean those cuts," Dean ordered.

"They're alright," Castiel shrugged.

Dean sighed but eventually ignored it. 

Continuing to the stir the soup, Dean didn't think much about this schedule change. In fact, it made him feel okay. Part of him was just glad he wouldn't live in worry about when Castiel would show up. He figured he'd get through this. However, he didn't even know why Castiel was here.

Eventually the soup was finished and slowly Dean poured it into a bowl. Setting it in front of Castiel, he watched as Castiel ate it as if he hadn't eaten in days.

"What about you? What happened to you?" 

Castiel didn't answer until he had eaten all of the soup. And even then he was silent with a tinge of shame.

He started from the beginning talking about the war but sparing Dean of the gory details. Then how Castiel and others give an offering to end it: their own grace. It was a remarkably brave thing to do, Dean thought, and overall interesting. Especially since Sam never talked about angels. 

Dean doubted he'd remember much but the morning but was still listening to every detail.

"And now here I am," Castiel finished and looked down at his empty soup bowl. Shame once again came over him.

"You're welcome to stay here," Dean spoke up, unexpectedly. He surprised himself but, really, could use the company.

"Thank you," Castiel looked like he was going to cry when he looked up at Dean. Dean just smiled and said he could sleep on the couch.

Fishing out blankets from the closet, Dean watched as Castiel tried to get comfortable on the couch. 

"You'll get used to it," Dean said as he handed him the only spare blanket he could find. He never had visitors stay over night.

"Thank you, again," Castiel mumbled as he tried again to lay in a comfortable position. 

Dean went to sleep that night feeling good yet scared. He was... worried. Worried that fitting Castiel into his schedule would become a thing...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been slacking badly... I've been reading a lot and school is starting soon but i swear I'll update more. Just give me time. :-)

Dean woke up exactly at his usual time, showered and dressed himself in his usual wear.

Walking into the living room he was reminded of the fact an ex-angel of the Lord was currently sleeping on his awkward couch.

Dean looked down at Castiel and searched for some memory but only recognized his face, nothing else. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Walking over to his bookcase, Dean starred at his only notes about Castiel yet again. Still, that was useless. He shook his head and made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast.

While eating half a piece of toast, Dean thought of if it was even appropriate to wake up Castiel. It was getting closer to 8 AM and he figured he could put Castiel to work...

Standing behind the couch, over looking Castiel, Dean watched him as he slept so peacefully. Part of him didn't want to wake him up. Another part of him compelled him to. 

Dean began whispering to himself, "Sorry new roommate but, 1... 2... 3... WAAAAAAAKE UP." Dean's voice reached a new level of loudness he didn't even know existed. 

Castiel let out of a scream and fell off the couch, just missing the coffee table.

Dean failed at stifling his laughter. He almost fell over laughing. Castiel, however, was more alert than mad.

"Get up," Dean chuckled and walked back into his kitchen.

"You haven't change."

"I haven't? Dean turned to face him. Castiel now stood in the middle of the living room.

"Oh that right, you don't remember."

"Remind me, then." Dean folded his arms and waited. Castiel was nearly at a loss of words as he tried to find how to describe Dean. 

"You had a small prankster side to you." Castiel admitted. 

"Hmm." Dean enjoyed learning this. It was the first thing he's ever learned about himself that made him feel good.

"Do you have any clothes I can borrow?" Castiel asked with a hint of awkwardness, embarrassment in his voice.

"Probably," Dean wandered over to the hall closet. A box sat in the back mostly full of shirts he felt weren't appropriate for work. Rummaging through it, he found a few Castiel may like. He tossed them to him and put the box back in the closet.

"You can borrow one pair of underwear and old sweatpants. I won't allow anything else."

Castiel said thank you and ventured to the bathroom to change and freshen up.

Dean waited patiently in the kitchen. He would be late to open his shop but somehow he wasn't bothered. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts about Castiel. He was curious to actually know who this man was. Who he was as an angel, as a friend, as a companion...

 Castiel came out moments later looking uncomfortable. The sweatpants hang oddly as does the shirt. Dean chuckles to himself as Castiel squints at him.

"Come on," Dean continues to let out small laughs as he motions downstairs and into the shop. 

"What are we doing down here?" Castiel followed Dean behind the counter, after Dean unlocked the door and flipped the 'Open' sign. He watched as Dean then began to check levels of salt, Holy Water and bullets. Then began double-checking the guns making sure everything was working normally on them. Castiel observed from the corner behind the counter.

"You gotta pay rent somehow," Dean joked. For the second time, he found his inner light, humorous self coming out. He didn't know this existed in him.

Castiel didn't ask but instead paid attention as Dean explained his job.

"I'm putting you on inventory. It's simple, really." He picked up an inventory sheet explaining how many of each item there should be in the shop and where to find them, and handed it to Castiel. "Just go through and check off each things as you count them. It's simple and none of the guns will go off, they aren't even loaded."

Dean handed him the sheet and Castiel moved around the open store area.

Dean felt weirdly pleased with himself. He was taking charge of his own store. Maybe he wouldn't even need the weekend boy to come in anymore, but then again he didn't have the heart to fire an innocent teen living from paycheck to paycheck.

Few moments later, Dean figured Castiel was almost done so he went to his notebook full of reminders on how to run the shop, scanning for something that had to be done, when there was a loud crash coming from one of the side storage rooms.

Quickly, he ran into the room and saw Castiel laying on the floor, bullets scattered everywhere and a look of defeat on his face. Dean couldn't help but laugh at the scene. 

"What happened?" Dean laughed harder as he began to pick up the bullets. Castiel sighed loudly. "Reached for the box and they tumbled down?"

Castiel nodded.

Dean placed the bullets back on the shelf and offered Castiel a hand up. As he pulled him up, Castiel seemed to fall into him. They were silent as Castiel barely began to lift his body away from Dean's. Silence fell like a blanket on them and the humidity seemed to reach a record high in the room. 

Before acknowledging what happened, Dean left and took his post behind the counter. Castiel finished up his job and didn't bother to ask for another one. 

They were silent as they sat behind the counter, staring at the door. 

AS the hours dragged on, Dean couldn't help but feel Castiel knew something he didn't.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being so late and so short... I do hope you enjoy, though!

"What do you last remember?" Castiel broke the silence that night over dinner. Him and Dean sat at Dean's kitchen table eating soup and a salad. The rest of their hours at the shop dragged on and were silent. In fact, this was the first time they began talking since this afternoon.

Dean pondered the question in his mind, wondering if he should even answer.

Second later he hesitantly said, "Being knocked out. I mostly remember the pain, other than that just everything being black."

Castiel pushed his spoon around in his bowl. "Nothing before that? Not even me?"

Dean heard the hurt in Castiel's voice. It cut him deeply but he managed a 'no'.

"How long has this been going on for... This memory loss?"

"2 years, maybe..."

Castiel set his spoon down next to his bowl of soup and pushed his chair out. Silently he excused himself. 

Dean felt defeated and annoyed. Castiel shouldn't be getting mad at him. I mean after all Dean never even knew Castiel existed. 

But then again, he could understand this. Castiel seemed to know so much more about him and Dean's past and that had to be hard on Castiel. Especially since Dean can't remember any of it.

Dean sat silently still eating his soup and salad. When he was finished, Castiel still hadn't returned to the table. So, Dean waited. He didn't care how long it would take, he would wait until he had the opportunity to talk to Castiel.

Eventually Dean got up and began doing the dishes. He placed Castiel's leftover soup in a Tupperware container. Along with the soup, in a separate container. 

Castiel finally came back into the kitchen and stood leaning against the counter next to Dean, who was still in the process of scrubbing the dishes.

"Just use the dishwasher," Castiel motioned to it, on the opposite end of the kitchen.

Dean was stunned by the random openness of the conversation but responded with, "No, I enjoy cleaning the dishes."

"I'll dry," Castiel offered and before Dean would retaliate, Castiel already had a towel in his hand.

Standing at the sink, they both had a nice system going. Dean scrubbed each silverware or dish about 5 times then passed it on to Castiel who dried each item with the most unique care. Dean adored that, secretly.

"Why?" Castiel asked randomly as he focused on a fork.

Dean added more soap to the sink and asked, "Why what?"

"Why didn't anyone tell me about what happened to you?"

"I don't know," Dean stared down at the sink.

silence crept upon them until it was broke by Castiel.

"No one ever really told you about me?"

Dean shook his head. "A man named Crowley came in and told me about you arriving a day before you came but other than that, I never recall ever hearing about you since my accident."

"I'm amazed." 

"Why's that?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. After drying the last eating utensil and watching as Dean drained the soapy water he finally found the words. 

"Thought I made more of an impact, that's all."

"I can't choose what to remember and what not to remember!" Dean's voice level increased dramatically. Castiel was caught off guard by this and took a small step back. Dean gripped th edge of the counter, looking down into the sink. 

There was a heaviness in the air now. Neither of them knew what to do. Castiel was scared, Dean was embarrassed.

"Sorry," Dean whispered and faced Castiel.

"I know you can't control any of this. Just show me what you do know. About everything."

Dean nodded and lead Castiel over to the bookcase. The bookcase still had notebooks sticking out of it. He grabbed the first one ever written and pointed Castiel to the couch. 

As they sat, side by side, and as Dean read there was something there... A sense of redemption... A sense of a fresh start... A relationship reborn. 

Dean felt it but did his best to ignore the feelings. They were useless... they couldn't have even been there... could they?

All Dean knew now was that Castiel was listening to every word. Every story, every single thing Sam has ever told him. They made it through three and a half notebooks by the time 1 AM rolled around.

And that night, for the first time in years, Dean didn't need to hear any stories from Sam. Instead, he had to share the stories with someone else. He didn't have question. In fact, he was the one answering the questions this time. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SO SORRY I HAVE BEEN SO BUSY AND SCHOOL IS SO MUCH MORE HECTIC THAN LAST YEAR AND I AM JUST DROWNING SORRY SORRY I NEED TO UPDATE MORE I NEED TO WRITE BETTER I AM SORRY OK DON'T BE MAD OMG

When he awoke the next morning, Dean was confused. His recalls of last night were fuzzy and he seemed to have fell asleep on the couch. He patted around on the raggedy couch and felt a body next to him. 

Dean slowly opened his eyes and realized Castiel was leaning away from him, still sleeping. Dean looked around at the notebooks that scattered on the couch and the floor. 

He gathered each notebook as he stood up. Only half of them were out of the bookcase. He skimmed the beginning dates, just to try to place them in there in the correct order. 

As he gathered them on the shelf, Dean did his best to remember what had happened the previous night. He remembered telling Castiel things, probably everything he wrote down since the accident.

"5 years worth of stuff is in a few dozen notebooks?" Dean was startled by Castiel's voice. He turned around to face him.

"Yeah. The writing helped."

"I don't doubt it." Castiel shrugged and went into the kitchen.

"You're still mad I don't remember you." Dean stated. Castiel stared at the schedule Dean kept on the fridge. Castiel was probably trying to find a way to follow it, but it was too late. It was nearly noon.

"I remembered you this entire time. I tracked you down."

"Yeah, well you didn't go through a terrible accident." Dean was frustrated now. He literally had no control over anything that went on with him and that has always been the hardest thing to accept.

"Of course, I know."

They were now both silent. There was questions and comments tugging at their hearts, but they both held themselves back. Dean turned away to shower and change his clothes. He heard Castiel leave the apartment.

Dean came back minutes later to find the apartment still empty. He felt as if he lost a friend, without even feeling like Castiel was his friend. He didn't know what Castiel was. A roommate? A brother-like figure? Someone not worth his time?

He was lost sitting there at his kitchen table. Dean was always lost these days, whether it was literally or figuratively, it still brought him down.

Shaking off the feeling the best he could, Dean ventured down to his store. He would be opening the shop a few hours late, but it didn't matter. Business was never demanding these days.

Dean sat behind the counter after inventory, scanning through the newspaper. It was a few days old, but still reliable news. 

The bell above the door went off. Dean's heart did a flip as he thought it might be Castiel, instead it was Crowley. 

"Glad he showed up," Crowley said as he once again stood still on the carpet. Dean was not in the mood to release him from the Devil's trap. "Can I speak to your new roommate?"

"Sure, if you can find him. He left." Dean shrugged and folded up the paper. 

"First fight?" Crowley chuckled. 

"Why do you need to talk to him?" Dean didn't find humor in anything today.

"None of your business right now."

"Right now?" Dean hopped down from his stool and walked around to Crowley.

"Don't ask questions." 

Dean sighed, and against his best judgement, he scrapped away part of the paint on the Devil's trap. The second Crowley stepped out of it, Dean repainted it. He didn't need to forget to repair something so vital.

"He's not here, but if you do find him, let him know I wasn't done with my stories." Dean walked over and held open for the door, motioning Crowley out. 

When he was gone, Dean closed the shop, even though he had only been open for barely an hour. He wasn't in the mood for people or anything else today. He was emotionally drained. Dean hadn't experienced being in such a crappy mood in a long time.

Walking back into his apartment, he jogged  his way to his room and collapsed into the bed. Promising himself he would wake the next morning with no thoughts of Castiel. He would get back on his schedule, he would revive himself, everything would be as close to normal as possible. Too many distractions, it killed him mentally.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i have not updated this in forever... um, sorry, i'm back. it's summer and i'm slightly back. xx

Dean broke down and called Sam that night.

He sat on his bed, sipping coffee, pressing the phone to his ear a little too hard. Missing yesterday's call really started to irk him.

Sam picked up at the second ring.

"Dean? Thank god, I was about to send out an Amber alert." Sam chuckled. Dean took a deep breath, not caring for the joke.

"Sorry, I was chatting with Castiel last night. He slept here." 

Dean began to wander his room. Although, there wasn't much space to wander. Still, it helped to fill the silence.

"Ahh... And how did that go? Struggle with straying from the schedule?"

"I told you I don't use them a lot." Dean ran his hand through his hair.

"I know when you lie. I'm your brother." Sam didn't sound mad. He did his best to make light of the situation, as Dean could tell.

"Whatever."

There was a pause.

"Anyways, how was Castiel? Anything about him spark your memory?"

"Um," Dean felt sad all of a sudden. Or, disappointed. Either way, it wasn't a good feeling. "No, nothing sparking in my brain. He was a great companion to have for the night. He really listened. We got so lost in talking it was a relief." 

He found some happiness in that.

"What do you mean  _was_ a great companion? Isn't he still there?" 

"No, he stormed out."

He heard Sam chuckle.

"What?" Dean raised his voice.

"Sounds like you guys had your first fight."

He shook his head. "No, he just doesn't understand."

"Dean, no one is going to understand." Sam's voice turned soft. Like when he's telling Dean a story. "Especially Castiel. You meant more than anything to him and now you couldn't even remember his name. It's a lot to process in a day or two."

Dean laid down in his bed. "He seemed alright when we were first talking."

"I'm sure he did but this storming out was not a sudden thing. Castiel must've been really planning it. Probably since the moment you asked him who he was." 

Sam wasn't helping.

"So it's me." Dean whispered.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

"What?" He asked.

"Are you purposely forgetting everything?" Sam's voice was getting stern while Dean was getting more confused.

"No, God, no."

"Then it's not you. It's your health. It's something you have no control over." 

Dean felt a rush of relief. He was beginning to worry he got lost at some part in the conversation.

"So, what do I do about Castiel?"

"Just wait until he comes back. He's bound to. He finally found you, he isn't going to give you up now."

Dean smiled to himself. That was exactly what he needed to hear.

"Thanks, Sam. I'll call you tomorrow. I really need to sleep."

It was only 9:00 but he prayed Sam wouldn't notice.

"Of course, good night."

After hanging up, Dean got a piece of paper and jotted down all he could quickly remember about the conversation. It was only small bullet points but it was something. He ran to the living room and shoved it in a random diary. 

As Dean was adjusting the book case, a knock came from the door.

Dean sprinted to the door. Opening it revealed a shy, small-looking, drenching wet Castiel. 

Dean wasted no time in giving him a hug. 


End file.
